Your bleached bones sit in the cellar.
"She was impertinent,"
I said
With a sip of my morning tea.

The tea with blueberry honey,
The tea with a spoonful of cream.

Aw rats, yoiu said,
I guess I'm dead
And kept right on living
Like Ozzy forking Osborne
Like Rick forking Grimes
But you live on like bones
In the cellar of my mind
The bitter milk of Lilith
Like "I don't have to bow to myself"
So I don't
I go on living
This impossible life.